^^: 



<3^ 



W^^M^ 






■iS2:r *"- 






■^ 



Bi#^ 






«^ 



^^ME 



^^"^^ 



>' Cite 



^-, 



<3C <rf« 



■o ^aBT-- ^---rf:c;3C 









c*3^Ki-m 






<^L><^ " 



LIBRARY OF COIGRESS. f 



i! UNITED STATE8 l)F AMERICA. ^! 

Sili 



i^ 




AMOS WILSON, 

The Ptnnsyivania Horinil^ tckb livtd 19 years m a Cave. 



TMtt 



PENIVSYLVANIA HERMIT. 



A NARRATIVE 

OF THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE OF 

AMOS WI^I-SON, 

Who expired in a Cave in the neighborhood of Harrisburgh (Penn.), 

after having therein lived in solitary retirement for the 

space of nineteen years, in consequence of the 

ignominious death of his sister. 




ANNEXED, 



Is the writings of Wilson while a recluse, and his reasons for 

preferring a state of Solitude to that of the society 

of his fellow-beings. 




PHILADELPHIA- M 

SMITH AND CARPENTER, PUBLISHERS. 



1839 






Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 183^, by Gvudon Smith, io, 
the Clerk's Office of the Diatrict Court for the Eastern District of Philadelphia 



THE LIFB 



OF 



ABIOS WILSON, &e 



Amos Wilson, (usually termed "the Pennsylvania Hermit,")^ 
whose eccentricity and seclu^sion from human society for nine- 
teen years, has excited so much curiosity in the western part of 
the state, was born in Lebanon, Dauphin county, Pennsylvania, in 
1774. His parents were honest and respectable, although not very 
wealthy. Amos was their only son, whom, at the age of sixteen, 
they apprenticed to the stone-cutting business — he was a youth of- 
correct habits, and during his apprenticeship very deservedly re- 
spected by all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. His coun- 
tenance was of meek and modest expression, and perfectly charac- 
teristic of a mild, affectionate temper— indeed, he was a youth who 
bid fair to become not only a valuable member of society, but the 
support of his parents in their declining years, had it not been for a 
most distressing circumstance, which not only forever destroyed 
their peace of mind, but rendered their son apparently the most un- 
happy of human beings. 

Wilson had an only sister, but two years younger than himself, of 
whom he was affectionately fond. She was a young lady of amiable 
disposition, and not less esteemed by her acquaintance for her vir- 
tuous and unblemished character, than the youth to whom she was 
so nearly allied ; but alas, esteemed and beloved as she was in her 
early youth for her love of virtue, at the age of nineteen cruel fate 
doomed this deluded and unfortunate young woman to suffer an igno- 
minious death !— Deceived and shamefully seduced by a wretch, who 
had, with prptestations of loye and promise of marriage, succeeded 
jn depriving her pf all that pwld render her respectable in the ^ea. 



6 ' LIFB OF AMOS WILSOPT. 

of the world, with the hopes of concealing her shame, she, in an 
unreflecting moment, committed a crime, which by the laws of our 
land is punishable with death ! and for which she was condemned 
and publicly executed. The exertions that were made by a large 
number of the most respectable citizens of Pennsylvania to obtain 
a pardon for, and save this young woman from an ignominious death, 
were perhaps beyond all example in this country ; yet were unat- 
tended with success, until the very day previous to that appointed 
for her execution. Her brother, who had been constant in his ap- 
plications in her behalf to the Executive since the awful moment 
of her condemnation, early on the morning of that day hastened to 
Philadelphia, where he prostrated himself at the feet of the Govern- 
or, and with intreS.'ties stronger than we have power to express, beg. 
ged that, in regard to his aged and afflicted parents, the life of their 
wretched daughter might be spared. The plea for mercy of the half- 
distracted brother, bathed in tears, was irresistible — he was success- 
ful ; and without a moment's delay, with feelings that can be better 
imagined than described, he hastened to convey the pleasing tidings 
to his anxious and expectant friends. But, alas, Providence seemed 
now to interfere to blast his fondest hopes almost at the instant that he 
considered them crowned with the most happy success ! an unpropi- 
tious rain, which had fallen that day, had swelled the streams of a river 
which he was obliged to ford on his return to a degree as to render it 
impassable ! For many hours he was compelled to pace the bank with 
bursting brain, and gaze upon the rushing waters that threatened to 
defeat his fond expectations ! At the earliest moment that a ford was 
practicable he dashed through, and arrived at the place of execution 

just in time to see the last struggles of his unfortunate sister! 

He was a witness but for a moment of the heart-piercing spectacle, 
when, in a state of insensibility, he fell from his horse ; in which situ- 
ation he was conveyed by his friends to the habitation of his dis- 
tressed parents. 

This was a shock too severe to be easily overcome. For many 
months he remained in a state of perfect delirium ; and from the mo- 
ment that his senses were partially restored, he declared that the 
wound that he had received was incurable ; that the world had now 
BO pleasures for him ; and that it was his determination the remainder 
of his days to seclude himself from human society. In an unfre- 
quented forest, twelve miles from Harrisburgh, he found a cave 
suitable for his purpose, which he selected as the place of his future 
abode. In this lonely and solitary retreat he dwelt alone for the 



LIFE OF AMOS WILSON. 7 

space of nineteen years, and was seldom visited by any one but the 
writer of these few particuhirs of his Hfe, whom he selected as his 
confidential friend, and who occasionally supplied him with such ne- 
cessaries as his situation required. 

Harriot Wilson, the sister of Amos, was born in 1776. She 
was early educated with the utmost tenderness ; and every possible 
care was taken to impress on her mind sentiments of virtue and re- 
ligion. She was of a sprightly and affable disposition, polite in 
manners and engaging in conversation — in a word, she in early age 
exceeded most of her sex in many of those accomplishments which 
are calculated to grace and dignify the female mind. 

At the age of eighteen Miss Wilson unfortunately became ac- 
quainted with a young man by the name of Smith, a native of Phi- 
ladelphia ; who, although tliere was nothing very attractive in his 
person, succeeded in ingratiating himself into the affections of this 
innocent and unsuspecting young lady. Her parents, aware of the 
impropriety of their daughter's forming too hastily an attachment 
for one who was yet to them a stranger, gave her that advice which, 
had it been strictly adhered to, would have preserved her innocent, 
and prevented the commission of a crime which brought their gray 
hairs in sorrow to the grave and their daughter to a shameful 
death. 

Not until the credulous and unsuspecting Harriot had surrender- 
ed to her vile seducer (by the repeated and solemn promises of mar- 
riage) all that could render her respectable in the eyes of the world, 
was it discovered that the vile author of her ruin was already a 
married man ! and that his protestations of love and promises of 
marriage were without a shadow df sincerity — a wicked devise, 
made use of only to enable him to efTect the ruin of an innocent 
girl. 

This poor deluded female now too late saw her imprudence in lis- 
tening to the false vows of her vile seducer. To devise means that 
would enable her to avoid the disgrace that her imprudent connex- 
ion was likely to produce, appears now to have been her principal 
object ; and, shocking to relate, she finally formed the determination 
to put a period to the existence of one whom by the laws of nature 
she was bound to cherish and protect, at the very moment that it 
was ushered into being ! and unfortunately for her, this diabolical 
plan she carried into eflect. 

The body of her new-born infant was found secreted in a neighbour. 
ing grove. The unfortunate Harriot was suspected, and charged with 



O LIFE OF AMOS WILSOW. 

being the perpetrator of the unnatural deed. On her examinatidnr, 
circumstances appearing against her, she was committed for trial. 
Such was the respectability of the unfortunate prisoner's parents 
and connection, and such the sensibility cherished by all with whom 
she had been acquainted, that on the day of her trial the court room 
was early filled with more than it could conveniently contain. The 
trial lasted eleven hours, when the judge summed up the evidence 
with the utmost candour ; but so strong were many circumstances 
against her, that the jury, being fully convinced of the commission 
"of the fact, found her guilty ! 

During her whole trial the unhappy prisoner exhibited an uncom. 
mon degree of fortitude, and seemed more to lament the misfortunes 
of her wretched parents and brother, on whom she had brought dis- 
grace, than her own fate. During her confinement in prison, before 
and after her condemnation, she was visited by many of the clergy 
and other respectable persons, who were much interested in her be- 
half in consequenceof her former uniform and admirable behaviour. 
She exhibited many proofs of penitence, and employed almost the 
whole of her time after her condemnation in prayer, and in perus- 
ing the sacred scriptures. She intreated such of her young female 
friends who visited her while in prison, to take warning by her fate, 
and to be ever on their guard against the intrigues and seducing 
arts of the other sex. 

There were very great exertions made by several of the most dis 
tingu'shed characters in the county to obtain a pardon for this un^ 
fortunate female ; but, without success. She had an only brother 
whose grief for the wretched fate of his beloved sister, bordered al- 
most on distraction. He, too, was unremitting in his exertions to 
save her from an ignominious death, and was too unsuccessful until 
the very day appointed for her execution^ — but, alas, as if doomed 
by Heaven to sufler thus ignominiously, he did not arrive in season 
with the pardon to prevent the execution of the law. 

The day of her execution arriving, by her request a suitable prayer 
was made by the Rev. D. White in her apartment, and the sacra- 
ment was administered. The parting between her and her aged and 
afflicted parents, and many of those with whom she had been most 
intimately acquainted, was affecting beyond description. At half 
past 10 A. M. accompanied by several of the clergy, she was con- 
veved to the gallows, she having taken ati affectionate and farewell 
leave of her friends ; and rather appeared disposed to impart to their 
'comfort than to repine in consequence df her own unhappy fat©. 



' LIFB or AMOS WlLIOIf, V 

When aicending the platform, and after the fatal cord had been af- 
tixed, her countenance displayed a serenity that appeared more than 
human, and when she gave the signal, there was a collected grace- 
fulness and sublimity iti her manner that struck every heart, and is 
above words or ideas. After she had been suspended nearly a minute 
her hands were twice evenly and gently raised, and gradually let to 
fall without the least appearance of convulsive or involuntary 
motion, in a manner which could hardly be mistaken, when interpre- 
ted, as designed to signify content and resignation. At all events 
independently of this circumstance, which was noticed by many, her 
whole conduct evidently showed, from this temper of mind, a com- 
posed, and even cheerful submission to the views and will of heaven ; 
a modest unaffected, submission entirely becoming her age, her sex, 
and situation. 

In less than five minutes after the fall of the fatal drop, her brother 
arrived with a pardon, with the Governor's signature affixed. 

A letter directed to this unfortunate brother was desposited by his 
wretched sister in the hands of one of the Rev. Divines who at- 
tended her, to be delivered to him as soon as he should return, and 
of which the following is a copy : 

" My dear Brother, 

" As the awful moment has nearly arrived, in which the dreadful 
sentence of the law is to be executed upon me, I am confident that 
we shall meet no more in this world. — Your failure to return yester- 
day at the hour you appointed satisfies me that you have again been 
unsuccessful in your application for a pardon, and that you wish to 
be as far distant as possible from the distressing scene, which a nu. 
merous throng of unpitying spectators are already collecting to wit- 
ness. My dear brother, I am happy to inform you that I am pre- 
pared to meet my fate, and shall die penitent, and in peace with the 
world. I trust that I have made my peace with my God, in whose 
presence I must shortly appear. My dear brother, the most that I 
now suffer is from the consciousness of the disgrace and misery that 
I have brought on you and my dear afflicted parents ! — Oh, may 
you endeavor all in your power to comfort them, and to satisfy them 
that it is the will of the Almighty, and that their heavy afflictions 
in the decline of life may prove for their spiritual good. My dear 
brother, my last request is, that you cherish religion, and that yo u 
hereafter try in every way to promote it among your relatives an d 
friends. It is this that will enable me to meet my fate with fortitxide 

2 



10 LirB OF AMOf winoIT, '^ 

and resignation. I never thought, in the former part of my life, thii^ 
it was possible for me to be so weaned from earth and my dear re- 
lations, and that I could have been so content to go down to the 
chambers of the grave ! Considerations of eternity, my dear brother, 
will restrain your fondness for the vain amusemerits of this life ; it 
will satisfy you of the importance of adorning religion by a holy, 
exemplary and blameless walk and conversation. It is in eternity, 
my dear brother, that we must expect again to meet ; and 0, it is 
and has been ray constant prayer in prison that we may all meet 
there in happiness ; until then I mdst bid you an affectionate fare- 
well. 

"HARRIOT WILSON." 

Thus fell, an early victim to the seductive arts of an unprincipled 
villain, the unfortunate, and once beloved Harriot Wilson. 

The heart not totally blunted to the sensibilities of humanity, 
must be so lacerated at the recital of this " tale of woe," as to havd 
all other feelings extinguished but those of abhorrence for the seducer 
and pity for the unfortunate victim of his arts.— -To behold a female, 
who, as it were but yesterday, was in all the bloom of loveliness—^ 
charming as a cloudless vernal morning — lovely as youth, beauty, and 
innocence could make her — doated on by her parents and brother, 
and idolized by all her acquaintance, now, as an olfender of the 
blackest cast, expiring on the gibbet, to appease violated justice, and 
a public warning against future crimes, must call forth the tears of 
sensibility, and awaken the pity of benevolence. 

In this sublunary world, properly called " the vale of tears," ca- 
lamities assail us on all sides ; wherever we turn our eyes, human 
misery is presented to the view in all her dark and imposing atti- 
tudes, and the hideous form of vice stalks uncontrolled, in what- 
ever clime we range. Man, who was originally created in the form 

•of his Maker, and once lived in innocence, peace, security and hap- 
piness, is now, for having disobeyed the mandates of the Almighty, 

'fallen from that blessed state, fendis how surrounded with all the evils 
and dangers attendant on sin and misery. Satiin, like a roaring 
lion ranges about seeking whom he may devour, and man pre'}'s upon 
his fellow-man : often do we see the wicked rolling in rrches and 

'honours, while poor depressed merit is too ofton abandoned to 
poverty and scorn. 

The tenderness and sensibility that prevails in the minds of fe- 

^■ial«s, subjects them to many temptatioos axd dangers from whiob 



LIFS OP AMOi wusoir. Ik 

aien are in a manner exempt. Their weakness and dependant stato> 
places their reputation on a foundation so slender, that the smallesfc 
breath of wind will overturn, and the slightest touch indelibly tar 
Bish. While lordly man can sin with impunity, and his most inde 
cent deviations from modesty and virtue, set down as trifling indis-, 
cretions, and oftentimes, the more he sins the more he is caressed. 
He can, without any scandal to himself, seduce the innocent virgin 
jErora the paths of virtue, while the unfortunate victim of his arts is 
expelled from society, and doomed either to end her days in a brothel,, 
among the most depraved, or be made a sacrifice on the altar of jus- 
tice. 

The family of the unfortunate subject of these pages was a happy 
one until the intru/sion of the vile seducer, when the unfortunate 
Harriot, the victim of his wicked arts, was the hope and joy of her 
aged parents ; but in an unsuspecting moment their hopes were blast- 
ed forever — their grey hairs were brought in sorrow to the grave !'. 
A doating and only brother was thereby driven into a state of retire- 
ment, and during the remander of his days lived a recluse from the. 
society of man. 

My fair readers — 'You see by the foregoing pages the gradation, 
of evils attendant on a departure from that dignified modesty which 
renders you respected and loved by the good and the worthy of the. 
other sex. A chaste and virtuous woman sits exalted on the pinna- 
cle of excUence, giving rational happiness and pleasure to all with- 
in the reach of her acquaintance ; as a sister, she possesses the 
warmest affections of her brothers, and the value set upon her re- 
putation very often prevents them from the commission of acts of 
folly which precede the depravity of vice ; and as a daughter, the 
delight of her parents, and the sweet smoother of the path down the 
vale of life from time to eternity. 

But mark the contrast. I am now to depict woman in her 
ftate of depravity — which I do with reluctance. View the scenes 
of dissipation, and the closing resort upon earth of those misguided 
females, who, too credulous, lost all that rendered them dear to so- 
ciety by not hearkening to the suggestions of the inward monitor. 
Turn your attention to those houses of debauchery where Vice 
reigns triumphant, and on whom poor mourning Virtue sheds a 
tear of pity. See what was once beautiful and enticing, now con. 
verted into a load of corruption ; behold the female form, disfigured 
by blowi and nightly abuse, carrying nothing human about it — no- 
thing but wlMit the eye wiH turn from ia diiigudt-— a burden to UM^f. 



Vt IXFl OF ▲XOS WILSON. 

and aft incumbrance on earth, and you will know how highly to 
prize the value of female chastity. 

But should your seducer not immediately forsake you, but keep 
you under his protection you stand on uncertain ground, subjected, 
as it were to he tyranny and caprice of a villian on whom you de- 
pend for support, and at whose option, bound by no ties, he can cast 
you on the world at pleasure — then, step by step you fall into the 
current which leads to the verge of female misery. 

Wilson, in hia dreary abode, was as comfortable as could be ex- 
pected; a table, a stool, a bed of straw, and a few cooking utensils 
was all the furniture that his hut contained ; although he could 
never be persuaded to shave himself, he was in other respects very 
particular in keeping himself cleanly attired, and his habitation free 
from filth. The greatest portion of his time was employed in making 
roill-stones, which were disposed of by the writer, and the proceeds 
expended for such necessaries as his situation required ; much of his 
time was however devoted to reading and writing, of which he was 
extremely fond from his youth. The bible and other religious works 
were the books preferred by him, and he was always punctual in his 
morning and evening devotions, and repeatedly declared his strong 
faith in the Christian religion ; adding, that he felt perfectly happy 
and satisfied with his situation, and craved not the wealth of the 
rich in this world, as he sought treasure of more estimable value in 
Heaven ; and that he envied not the appearance of earthly happiness 
in any man, as he believed that he had bright prospects of enjoying 
that which was more permanent in the life to come. Although he 
employed much of his time in writing, he ever refused to expose his 
manuscripts to the inspection of even his friend, declaring that he 
intended them for publication after his decease ; for, as it was his de- 
terminationjthat his fellow-creatures should not receive any benefit 
from his society while living, he hoped he should be enabled, at the 
termination of his earthly existence, to leave them a legacy, which, 
if attended to, might prove for their earthly as well as spiritual 
good. On the writer's expressing to him his surprise (one day) that 
he should be found so willing to exclude himself from the social en- 
joyments of human society, he thus replied : — " I live the life of my 
choice— I prefer being a recluse from the jars of a contending world* 
and the mistrusts and jealousies of an ostentatious race, who have 
already inflicted a wound which they can never heal. Retired in 
this lonely cell, I meet not the neglect of ungrateful friends, nor hear 
the taunts of the children of pride. I court only the company of 



Lira OF AMOS wiLSoir. 13 

the Divine Spirit of the Most Holy, and the clamours of the foolish 
disturb not my pious meditations, nor the sneers of ignorance ex- 
cite painful sensations in my peaceful breast. The shafts of envy, 
tipt with calumny, spend their force ere they reach me ; and the vain 
of mankind may satiate themselves with folly, iniquity and deceit, 
and I shall not be rendered more miserable thereby." 

But a few years since this extraordinary and singular character 
expired in his hut, unattended by a single friend to close his eyes ! 
His exit must have been very sudden, as he was left, the evening be- 
fore in tolerable health, by the writer ; in a corner of his cave was 
found a bunch of manuscripts, among which was that of which the 
contents of the following pages is an exact copy, and which he re- 
quested particularly might be published ; and in conformity to which, 
we here present it to the public. 



THE SWEETS OF SOLITUDE, 

OR INSTRUCTIONS TO MANKIND 

HOW THEY MAY BE HAPPY IN A MISERABLE: 
WORLD. 



" I've often thouj^ht and so think still, 
Mankind may be happy if they will." 

In this "Miserable World" (so termed by a great portion of" 
mankind,) Happiness appears to be their general pursuit : yet how 
few are there who have approached the goal of their constant pur-, 
suit and wishes ! The only man who can be considered happy, is he 
who can reconcile himself to his circumstances, be they what they 
may ; who can wean himself from the fashionable follies of the world, 
and content himself to live within the limits of his income. But 
how few are there who have the fortitude and resolution to pursue 
such a plan of conduct ! The lust of power, the blandishments of 
wealth, the phantom of honour, are so many stumbling-blocks to 
their felicity. 

Discontent is the universal bitter of human life : there are but 
very few who do not complain of some want or other, though the 
want arises only from the caprice of their will ; things go not right 
if they run not on the wheels of their fancy, and turn about with 
the windmill of their brain. Not to amuse ourselves with hopes or 
fears, but to rest satisfied with our present circumstances, is alone 
the way to contentment ; for he who wants nothing, possesses every 
thing. It is a contented mind that will give us happiness, as it wil| 
give us a constancy in all conditions. 

It is the part of a prudent man not to be elated with prosperity, 
Dor irresolute in misfortune. The good man, like the valiant sol- 
dier, will act up to his character, and behave bravely amid his tri- 
als ; knowing them to be the hand of God, therewith ha will be coDt, 
Sent, and scorning to repine, will make himself happy. 



ilFB OF AMOt >1M0W. 1% 

The greatest cause of discontent is, that men have no definitive 
■measure to their desires. It is not the supply of all their re.i! wants 
that will satify them ; their appetites are precarious, they hunger 
'not because they themselves are empty, but because others are full. 
Ahab, one would think, might well have been contented with the 
'kingdom of Israel, without Naboth's vineyard ; and Haman, with 
the obeisance of all the Persian court, without the additional bow of a 
poor Jew. A low condition in the world seems to all a terrible mis- 
fortune ; but how many are really poor amid their riches, and want 
in the midst of plenty ! 

The true felicity of life is to be free from perturbations ; to under- 
stand our duty towards God and man ; to enjoy the present, without 
any anxious dependence upon the future. Not to amuse ourselves 
with either hopes or fears, but to rest satisfied with what we have, 
is abundantly sufficient ; for he that is so, wants nothing. The 
great blessings of mankind are within us, and within our reach ; but 
we shut our eyes, and, like people in the dark, we fall fou\ upon the 
very thing that we are in search of without finding it. 

One of the greatest secrets of life is, that of knowing how to sof- 
ten our uneasiness ; and if it be not in our power to disengage our- 
selves from trouble, to weaken at least the impressions of it ; without 
this we must resolve frequently to be miserable, for, being exposed 
to numberless evils, hardly a day passes but we feel some new dis- 
tress. Now I know of no remedy more effectual than pre-consi- 
deration ; and whoever has made aft exact reflection upon the tra- 
verses of life, will find himself at least consolable in his misfortunes. 
I would have every one so far consider and expect all kinds of evils, 
as not to be surprised at any calamitous event. Let the happy cour- 
tier possess the favor of his sovereign, and enjoy to his wish the 
pleasures of his good fortune ; yet let the example of so many falls 
incline him to mistrust the security of his seat : let him not, although 
on the summit of the wheel, forever cast his eyes upward, but some- 
times look down : let him view the place he began to rise from, let 
him consider the first degree of his advancement, as a precipice from 
which he may every minute be tumbled. Let not a prince be too 
fond of his empire : let not the obeisance of such a world of people 
easily flatter his self-love ; in four and twenty hours kings have been 
seen on a throne and behind a chariot ; in a few days we have seen 
the same prince triumph and led in triumph ; the revolution of tho 
•people or the loss of a battle may ravish his crown from his head, 
and plaee kis sc»ptra ia the hapd of a stranger. 



M LIFE OF AMOS WIL80X. 

Never pronounce any man happy who depends upon fortuhs 
for his happiness ; for nothing can be more preposterous than to 
place the good of a reasonable creature in unreasonable things ; if I 
have lost any thing, it was adventitious ; and the less money, the less 
trouble. It is a common mistake to account those things necessary 
that are superfluous, and to depend upon fortune for the felicity of 
life, which arises only from religion and virtue. There is no trusting 
to her smiles ; that which she gives us this hour, she may deprive us 
of the next ; and he who trust to her favours, shall either find himself 
deceived, or, if he be not, he will at least be troubled because he may 
be so. Whatsoever our lot is in this world, we ought to bear it 
without a murmur : a good man can never be miserable who cheer- 
fully submits to the will of Providence, although he may posses* 
but a small portion of the riches of this life. To be truly happy in 
this world, a man must be content with his lot, in a cheerful and 
quiet resignation to the appointments of an impartial God. The joy 
of a sincere Christian stands firm without interruption; in all places* 
at all times, and in all conditions, his thoughts are cheerful and quiet. 

Whether necessity or inclination has placed us in a secluded life, 
let us forbear admiring the labors of men, to contemplate the works 
of the Great Creator-— let us remove our thoughts from the pride and 
pomp of a court, and innocently enjoy the delights we find in Soli- 
tude. The Heavens, the sun, the stars, the elements, have they 
not beauties to satisfy the mind that contemplates them ? The waste 
of plains, the course of rivers, the meads, the flowers, the rivulets, 
have they not charms to enchant the eye ? Do we ever want the music 
of birds in our groves ?— We may live contented everywhere if we 
change our pleasure* with our abode. We find our account in this 
world in the study of nature ; it directs our thoughts to Him who 
IS the Great Author of it — our senses meet with their delights, and 
w hoever is capable of moderation, will have full enough to content 
him. 

The most cruel tyrants can find no dungeon for our soul ; they 
cannot be the masters of it any farther than we are willing to serve 
them : — their chains cannot bind it, and in whatever place the 
body be shut up, the soul never changes its place or dwelling. Thus 
we may find contentment even in the meanest hovel, if we will only 
endeavor to make ourselves so. Let the man of a firm health not 
account himself happy only in the enjoyment of this good, but may 
the thoughts of suffering nothing among so many calamitous objects^ 
which are about him, make him yet more content ; let him enjoy 



LIFE OF AMOS WILSON. 17 

himself not only from the good circumstances that are his lot, but 
from the evils too, which do not befall him. May the pleasures he 
tastes, and the pain he suffers not, afford him equal satisfaction. 

In reality, however innocent they may appear, excess is ever 
criminal, and produces not only infamy, but sickness and pain ; — a 
man who loses his reputation by a debauch, very often loses his 
health too, and wounds his constitution no less than his honour. It 
becomes every man to live with restriction. Pleasure is the view 
of our actions ; and although we pursue different plans, we aim at 
the same point. Let every one live as is most agreeable to his in- 
nocent inclinations, and enjoy all the delights that offer, when they 
are consistent with the principles of conscience and honour. 

It is preposterous for any one to expect to be truly happy in this 
world unless he is truly pious ; he who aims to be happy, with all 
his earthly possessions, if he possesses not Religion, he is indeed 
a miserable inhabitant of what he is pleased to call a " miserable 
world." True happiness is not to be found in the excesses of wino 
or of women, nor in the larojest prodigalities of fortune. He who 
would perfectly know himself, let him set aside his money, his for- 
tune, his dignity, and examine himself naked. It is dangerous for 
a man too suddenly or too easily to believe himself; wherefore let us 
examine, watch, observe, and inspect our own hearts. We should 
every night call ourselves to an account — What infirmity have I 
mastered to day ? or what passion opposed ? what temptation re- 
sisted ? what virtue acquired ? Our vices will abate of themselves 
if they are brought every day to the shift. What can be more rea- 
sonable than this daily review of a life that we cannot warrant for 
a moment? There is a great variety in our lives, but all tends to 
the same issue — nature may use her own bodies as she pleases, but 
a good man has this consolation, that nothing perishes which he 
can call his own. ,We are born to lose and to perish ; to hope 
and to fear ; to vex ourselves and others ; and there is no antidote 
against a common calamity but Religion and Virtue. 

Whoever seriously and meekly attends to the operations of his 
own mind, may soon find sufficient evidence there, to convince him 
that there is a God who made him ; to whose goodness he owes all 
the faculties of his soul, to whose providence he owes all the bless- 
ing of his life, and by whose permission it is that he exercises and 
enjoys them — that he is placed in this " miserable world" so termed, 
but as a creature of a day, hastening to the place from which he 
shall not return ; that he i$ accountable for his conduet to tha 



18 LIFE OF AMOS WILSOJf. 

greatest and wisest of Beings, from the strictness of whose justice 
he must have every thing to fear ; but that he is exhorted to be huni- 
ble and penitent, and qast himself in hope upon the infinitude of 
mercy, and the infinitude of goodness ! 

The Creator of the universe, in that sublime and beautiful order 
which he in his wisdom hath established, seems to have appointed 
continual lessons of instruction to his rational creature, man. If 
the luminaries of the sky shine with superor splendor over our heads, 
it seems as though they were principally intended to diffuse light 
and heat, and impart joy and gladness beyond themselves. 

The world which we now inhabit is a world of trials and tempta- 
tions ; and if we suffer our passions to take possession of us, it is no 
easy matter to break their force. If we once give a loose to our 
appetites, we know not when to hold the rein ; nor is it in our pow- 
er always to stop short of vice, so frail is human nature — so strong 
the force of habit, that " it is easier to suppress the first desire than 
to satisfy all that follow it," is a maxim, the truth, of which many un- 
thinking youth has, too late, bedn forced to acknowledge. How many 
have we known, who, from the indulgence of innocent amusements, 
have been led into excesses and crimes which have stained a reputa- 
tion which would otherwise have been fair and irreproachable, and 
which have sometimes brought themselves to a shameful end. In- 
nocent pleasures are as necessary to the support of the constitution 
and health, as salutary medicines ; but in keeping within bounds* 
there lies the task ; we progress, by slow degrees, till we arrive at 
the gulf of sensuality. As well may ♦' the Ethiopean change his skin 
or the leopard his spots," as those, long "hacknied in the ways of 
vice," to reform ; the drunkard to become temperate ; the gambler to 
lose a relish for cards and dice ; or the sensualist to give up his car- 
nal desire. How important, then, is it, that those who have the 
care of youth should warn them, both by precept and example, to 
shun the excessive indulgence of pleasure (falsely so called, a sure 
precurser of loss of health, reputation, fortune, and peace of con- 
science,) and to pursue the paths of sobriety, honesty, frugality and 
industry ; to lead godly lives, in the fear of the Lord, which is the 
beginning of knowledge ! Thus will their lives be serene and happy 
and their exit peaceful. 

In my solitary abode, secluded from the society of mankind, what 
pleasure have I enjoyed in contemplating the goodness of the Al- 
mighty ! and should my life be prolonged to double the number of 
ye^rs which I have already passed, I would prefer a secluded lit* 



LIFE OF AMOS WILSOV. 10 

to that of mingling with the inhabitants of a world producing so 
many temptations calculated to beguile them from the paths of vir- 
tue and morality. Heaven is witness, that in this rocky cavern I 
enjoy more happy moments than where I passed my laughing youth 
in the pursuit and indulgence of what is termed worldly pleasures. 
If I am not soothed by flattery, I am not wounded by ingratitude. 
If I have it not in my power vainly to boast of superior life, I am 
not the object of calumniating envy ; and I am now too far removed 
into the shade for scorn to point its finger at me : my hopes no lon- 
ger rest on vain, idle, fallacious objects, on private friendship or 
public justice ; they have now a more durable foundation — they rest 
on Heaven. 

Well did an ingenious writer say of Solitude, that in it "the 
mind gains strength, and learns to lean upon herself:" in the world, 
it seeks or accepts a k\v treacherous supports ; the feigned com- 
passion of one — the flattery of a second — the civilities of a third — 
the friendship of a fourth ! They all deceive, and bring the mind back 
to retirement, reflections and books ! But altliough mankind read so 
many excellent maxims of wisdom, and their judgments are so fully 
convinced of the lasting advantages of true philosophy, how frail, 
how forgetful, how much under the influence of the passions, are 
men of superior accomplishments found ! But they are living mo- 
nitors to teach us wisdom by their weakness ! 

Whilst we remain in the world we are all fettered down, more or 
less, to one level ; and have neither all the leisure nor all the means 
to soar above it, which we may procure to ourselves by breaking 
the fetters of retirement. To talk of abstracting ourselves from mat- 
ters, laying aside body, and being resolved, as it were, into pure in- 
tellect, is proud, metaphysical, unmeaning jargon : but toabstract our- 
selves from the prejudices and habit, and pleasures and business of the 
world is no more than many are, though all are not capable of doing ; 
— they, who can do this, who can become weaned from the world, and 
content themselves to spend a portion of their lives in solitude, may 
in their retreat elevate their souls to a higher station, and may take 
thence such a view of the world as the second Scipio took in his 
dream from the seats of the blessed when the whole earth appeared 
so little to him that he could scarcely discern that speck of dirt, the 
Roman Empire. Such a view as this will increase our knowledge 
by showing us our ignorance, and will teach us to establish our 
peace of mind where alone it can rest securely, in resignation. 



so LIFE OP A3I0S WILSON. 

Sach a view will render life more agreeable, and death less ter- 
rible. 

The idea of God, and the precepts of bis holy religion (says a ce- 
lebrated writer), are never so little remembered as in the ordinviry 
intercourse of society. Engaged in a multiplicity of absurd pur- 
suits, intranced in the deUrium of gaiety, inflamed by the continual 
ebriety which raises the passions and stimulates the desires, every con- 
nexion between God and man is dissolved ; the bright and noble 
faculty of reason obscured ; and even the great and important duties 
of religion, the only source of true felicity, totally obliterated from 
the mind or remembered only with levity. On the contrary, he who, 
entering into a serious self-examination, elevates his thoughts in si- 
lence toward his God. 

In the last moments of life, it is certain that we all wish we 
had passed our days in greater privacy and solitude, in stricter in- 
timacy with ourselves, and in closer communion with God. Press- 
ed by the recollections of our errors, we then clearly perceive that 
they were occasioned by not having shunned the snares of the world, 
and by not having watched with sufficient care over the inclinations 
of our hearts. Oppose the sentiments of a solitary man, who has 
passed his life in pious conference with God, to those which occupy 
a worldly mind, forgetful of its Creator, and sacrificing its dear- 
est interests to the enjoyment of the moment : compare the charac- 
ter of a wise man, who reflects in silence on the importance of eter- 
nity, with that of a fashionable being, who consumes his time in the 
idle amusements of the world ; and we shall then perceive that soli- 
tude and dignified retirement can alone afford true pleasure, and 
give us what all the vain enjoyments of the world will never bestow, 
consolation in death, and hope of everlasting life. But the bed of 
death discovers most clearly the difference between the just man, 
who hfld quietly passed his days in religious contemplation, and the 
man of the world, whose thoughts have only been employed to feed 
his passions and gratify his desires. A life passed amidst the tu- 
multuous dissipations of the world, even when unsullied by the com- 
mission of any crime, concludes, alas, very differently from that 
which has been spent in the bowers of solitude, adorned by inno- 
Qftnce and rewarded by virtue. 

Were mankind to examine on what their hope of future bliss is 
founded, and anticipate that day of discovery and decision on 
which is hastening upon them, it would excite diligence and weaken 
their attachment to inferior objects. To a mind conscious of its nativa 



LIFE OF AMOS WIL80X. ^1 

dignity and immortality, this employment cannot be either unpleas- 
ing or unprofitable. It is the highest proof of wisdom so to act in 
our present situation, that, when removed to another, the change 
may be as happy as it will be lasting. We need not fear that this, 
will diminish our present happiness. The Gracious Being who forms 
ed us, requires no service at our hands but what will promote our 
present good. " Godliness is profitable to all things ;" by living in 
conformity to its rules, we escape many evils, and are preserved 
in virtue and innocence. We enjoy every gratification that can 
give delight to a reasonable mind. Were mankind generally influenced 
by this noble principle how happy then would be the state of human 
society. They would then cease to be miserable in a " Miserable 
World." The voice of discord would then be no longer heard. The 
various rank and classes of men would be connected in the strong- 
est and most pleasing band of union. " Righteousness and peace 
would kiss each other," and the present state of existence would be 
only a happy prelude to one still more exalted and glorious in the 
realms of eternal day. 

By experience I well know that the highest happiness which is 
capable of being enjoyed in this " miserable world," consists in a 
peace of mind, and a strict adherence to the principles of the Chris- 
tian religion ; and by experience I can assure my dear reader that 
the rich and the poor, the happy and the miserable, the healthy and 
the sick, in short, all descriptions of persons, whatever may be their 
stations or their circumstances in this life, will experience infinite ad- 
vantage in a religious retirement from the world. Solitude, when 
it has ripened and preserved the tender and humane feelings of the 
heart, and created in the mind a salutary distrust of our vain rea- 
son and boasted abilities, may be considered to have brought us 
nearer to God. Humility is the first lesson we learn from reflec- 
tion and self-distrust the first proof we give of having obtained a 
knowledge, of ourselves. The wisdom that teaches us to avoid the 
snares of the world, is not to be acquired by the incessant pursuit 
of entertainments ; by flying, without reflection from one party to 
another ; by continual conversation on low and trifling subjects ; 
by undertaking every thing and doing nothing. 

A pursuit after happiness almost entirely engrosses the attention 
of man in his social state ; and though his visionary fancy may 
place her at a distance, yet, like the ignis-fatuus to the benight- 
ed and bewildenid traveller, she will constantly recede from the 
grasp in proportion to the eagerness of our pursuit, till deatk puts 



23 LIFE OF AMOS WILSOX. 

an end to our career. The contending passions of man render the 
acquirement of true happiness in a state of society abortive ; but 
the Recluse, retiring from the caprice of a vain world, by reflecting 
On the beauties of nature and the bounties of nature's God, enjoys 
a tranquillity which the social world cannot bestow. 

That man is capable in private of an intercourse with his Maker, 
there are many living witnesses to prove, without having recourse 
to the visions of fanatics or to the dreams of enthusiasts; it may 
be proved to spring from natural or philosophic causes. God is a 
spirit, so is the mind ; bodies can have intercourse, so can souls ; 
when minds are in an assimilating state of purity, they have union 
with their Maker. Thus disposed, the Creator communicates him- 
self to the soul, in a manner which is as insensible to the natural 
eye as are the falling dews. Enthusiasm has swelled with unna- 
tural conceptions, and obtruded a spurious offspring on the world, 
instead of the engaging child of reason and truth ; whilst the luke- 
warm have rested in a few outward duties, which have had no vi- 
gour, and, as they spring not from the heart, never entered the temple 
of the Most High. Real piety is of a very different and of a much 
more animated nature : it looks up to God, sees, hears, feels him in 
every event, in every vicissitude, in all places, at all seasons, and 
upon all occasions. It is theory verified by experience ; it is faith 
substantiated by mental enjoyment ; it is heaven transplanted in the 
human bosom ; it is the radiance of the divinity warning and en- 
circling man. It is a spiritual sense gratified by spiritual sensations ; 
without this, all ceremonies are inefficacious. 

A fellow-being with a cultivated mind enjoys peculiar satisfaction 
in the hours for solitude ; and the most popular subject on which he 
can meditate and employ his attention and observation when 
alone, is the thought of Deity. Not that he may doubt the exist- 
ence of a Supreme Being;' but he can naturally, and with more per- 
spicuity, meditate on his Almighty Power, Justice, Mercy, and 
Benevolence towards poor frail creatures of mortality. 

The sick, the sorrowful, and the discontented, may find equal re- 
lief in solitude ; it administers a balm to their tortured souls, heals 
the deep and painful wounds they have received, and in time re- 
stores them their pristine health and vigour. Sorrow, misfortune, 
and sickness soon render solitude easy and familiar to our minds. 
How willingly do we renounce the world, and become indifferent to 
all its pleasures when the insidious eloquence of the passions is si- 
ienoedi and ©nr powers are debihtated by vexation of ill health ! It is 



UFK OF AMOS WILSON. 38 

then we perceive the weakness of those succours which the world 
affords ; the mind then seeks a balm in Religion, and becomes more 
disposed to seek "its Guardian Angel and its God." 

Thus, my dear readers, have I endeavoured, as far as my feeble 
powers would permit, to satisfy you of the blessings of Solitude, and 
of the vast importance of cherishing Religion in this world, that 
you may be fitted for another and a better. When you peruse 
these few pages, containing the best advice that I am able to give 
you, I shall have paid that debt which you must sooner or later pay; 
my only prayer therefore is, that you may receive the advice con- 
tained in the foregoing pages with as much pleasure as it is given, 
and that it may ultimately operate as powerfully on your minds as 
it has on that of the author. 

Mysterious are the ways of Providence ; the same wheel which 
raises you to-day on the smooth, unruffled ocean of prosperity, may, 
before the morrow, roll you in the stormy sea of adversity ; the scenes 
of life are continually shifting, and " the fashion of the world pass- 
eth away 1" Mankind in this world are ever subject to ills, infirmi- 
ties and disappointments — pains and perplexities are the long-lived 
plagues of human existence — but Religion is the balm that heals 
those wounds ; — it was this that preserved me, and prevented my 
committing violence on myself at the melancholy moment when I 
was doomed to experience one of the severest trials of this life — when 
doomed to witness the melancholy fate of an affectionate and only 
sister, the companion of my youth, torn from the bosom of her fond 
parents, and for many months confined within the thick walls of a 
gloomy prison, and from thence conveyed (at the very moment that 
a pardon was obtained for her) to the gallows, there to suffer like 
one of the greatest monsters of human depravity, an ignominious 
death ! — to view her lifeless corpse suspended in the air, surrounded 
by a throng of unpitying spectators ! But alas ! it was the will of 
God, to which we must submit. It was at this trying moment that he 
sent Religion and reason to my aid, and bid me no longer grieve 
for her whom I could not and ought not wish to recall to this 
troublesome world — for her whom I had just reason to believe had 
gone to the regions of eternal day, above the reach of sorrow, vice, 
or pain. 

The consideration of the sorrows of this life and the glories of the 
next is our best support. Dark are the ways of providence while we 
are wrapped up in mortality ; but, convinced there is a God, we 
must hope and believe tliat all is right. 



94 MFE OF AMOS WILSON. 

I am fully sensible, my dear fellow mortals, that our lives are strew- 
ed with difficulties, troubles, and disappointments; that we daily ex- 
perience the rod, which furnishes to us a lesson highly worthy of in- 
struction. It is in the very nature of things requisite that we meet 
with trouble while here below, in order that we better know how to 
prize the felicity which awaits us in the heavens above : and he that 
bravely encounters the trials and misfortunes of this world, outbraves 
them all, counting them but as momentary afflictions comparatively 
to the joys which are set before him in futurity. We are too apt to 
find fault, and conclude we are possessed of a greater share of world- 
ly affliction than our fellow men, or more than our proportion in the 
scale of justice ; and are ready, as it were, to call heaven to witness 
our petition ; but I am persuaded mankind are not so unequally 
provided for in this world as many imagine. *' God is no respecter 
of persons," he favours one man no more than another, and his 
blessings are equally showered upon all his offspring. 

As regards my own situation, few, very few, of my fellow-creatures 
it is probable, could be found willing (after experiencing so many 
severe trials) to retire from the busy world, and be contented to 
abide alone for the space of almost nineteen years within the walls of 
a soliary cave, as I have myself done. My situation has no doubt 
been pronounced unhappy and miserable by many of my fellow-be- 
ings ; but, secluded as I have been from the society of man, depriv- 
ing myself of the superfluities of life, I solemnly declare that I have 
enjoyed more real happiness in retirement, than what all the riches 
and superfluities of this world could have afforded me. 

My dear readers, I must now bid you all an affectionate farewell. 
May the remainder of your days be spent in the faithful discharge 
of the duty you owe to the supreme disposer of all events ! — As your 
days shorten, may the sun of righteousness brighten over you till 
you arrive at the new Jerusalem, where tears are wiped away from 
every eye, and sorrow is no more ! 

AMOS WILSON. 



THE BITD. 



E^i^S^^J^pf^ 






j:^^ 

^^^- 



t^M 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

11 




UBm^ 



■K» .Z3ti^S?S->i>fa»t— 



014 434 207 






m^m. 









^^^«^s* 



«>^' 






-^^^Zn 




?5?5 




Vt^s^^=7 




:>^ 




^^^^ 


^ 


» ■ 


■^^^ 


!^^^^' 


^5VI 


S- 


;,°^.^: 


» ' -S i^ 


T 


'-> '/ 




■':>_>'>,-' 


^ 


r-\X 


=^^fr-i^^Ej^| 


►V--:^ 




^ 


r^^''T ]> J 


^^ 








^S^ 




«.■ 




r 









353 



^^?.% 
-^^ 






